Title: Silver Shadows

Author: Forest

Pairings: Orophin/OFC, Galadriel/OMC

Rating: PG13

Genre: Angst / Drama

WARNING: Violence, Character deaths

Beta/Editor: Shelly

Cast: Haldir, Orophin, Rúmil, Celeborn, Galadriel, Erestor, Elrond, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, OCs

Disclaimer: I own no-one from The Lord Of The Rings. All the characters and place names displayed belong to JRR Tolkien except Saeden, Galaril and Tarwë who are from my own imagination and therefore are the only ones I lay claim to. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.

Feedback: Yes please! We aspiring authors thrive on the stuff.

Timeline: AU (to allow for some leeway as regards the practises and ceremonies etc of the elves.)

Summary: (Loosely based on the story of "Hamlet".) When a tragedy befalls the elves of Lorien, there seems to be little hope for a full recovery. However, through a dramatic chain of events, Rúmil finds himself in an unthinkable situation which forces him to become torn between his oath of wreaking revenge and his deep reluctance to spill elven blood.

Author's Note: HUUGE thanks to all my reviewers, especially Lady of Light. You rock mi dearie! huggles tight Thanks very much for steering me away from the chasm that is Grelvish.

Chapter 5

Haldir had eventually unearthed Rúmil later on that afternoon when it transpired he had been "away thinking". But still, though Rúmil had been in a vaguely normal state for the remainder of the day, Haldir could not prise rhyme nor reason out of him and his plans to play agony uncle seemed utterly scuppered.

Rúmil, whilst he easily weathered and dead batted Haldir's attempts to make him talk he was nonetheless extremely irritated by them.

'Can you not just tell me what you were thinking about?' cajoled Haldir that evening at dinner.

Rúmil sighed into his wine. 'Haldir, I have told you now too often than I care to remember. It is none of your concern. Yes, I know you're my brother, but this I must cope with on my own.'

Not only was the mere idea of Haldir wheedling away completely irksome, but the young elf steadily became more and more afraid that if tested too far, he might let something slip out of pure rage. After all, the oath he had sworn to Celeborn was not something to be taken lightly and the thought pained him greatly. Initially he had been seriously pondering his sanity. However, when that proved intact he took to wondering whether he had really seen Celeborn at all – or was it perhaps someone's sick idea of a magical prank?

After all, an elf to request a kinslaying? The idea was absurd. And not just any kinslaying either. When it came down to it, Rúmil realised that he was being asked – no, told, to kill the now Lord of Lorien, and his closest friend since elflinghood. And indeed, it would not be enough to just destroy Galaril. He would have to provide a blinding good reason for his actions to the entirety of Lorien, to Galadriel … to Haldir. He supposed there was the vague possibility of an execution, but that again needed solid, unquestionable proof and besides, no elf had been executed to his knowledge since Eöl – and even that, he had been told, had been a rash and heated decision.

But now he had finally convinced himself that he had indeed witnessed Celeborn … or rather, Celeborn's "spirit" and the torture of having to keep such terribly vital information to himself was extreme in the worst possible sense.

So, he had taken to taking breakfast at first light and then fleeing the city to walk in the woods by himself, amongst the majestic trees that offered only shelter and peace and asked no questions. There he would hide for most of, if not all the day – away from the persistent interrogations, the concerned glances and the festival.

Ai, The festival! Such cause for jubilation and merriment and yet even the thought of it made Rúmil feel sick to the pit of his stomach. Imagining how much of a joyful front he would be forced to masquerade behind; in order to keep everyone convinced there was nothing amiss; frankly terrified him.

More than once under the pressure of his own mind, Rúmil had toyed with the idea of telling someone of the situation – the likeliest candidate being Galadriel herself. But each time, he reminded himself of his oath.

'Break a sworn oath you had make to a sprirt; and woe betide you.'

Rúmil shivered at the remembrance of such stories he had been told as a youngster that told of people who had done just that, and suddenly, they did not seem quite so entertaining.

Later that evening, Orophin took himself off to the healers to have his wrist seen to. Mercifully, she only asked the necessary questions and set about bandaging it up around a splint. She had told him very sternly not to use it at all for two weeks and then to come back and see her. Thankfully, the broken wrist was not the one he wrote with, which incidentally, was Haldir's first comment to Orophin when he saw him.

Orophin merely stared at Haldir, not knowing whether he wanted to scream in rage, storm off or fall on his brother and weep. Caught in indecision, he continued staring, his jaws clamped tightly together, entire body stiff and rigid.

Noticing this, Haldir's attitude altered immediately.

'Orophin, whatever is the matter?' Haldir said. 'First Rúmil and now you!'

Orophin swallowed, the force he felt to finally face the truth of what had happened causing his spent eyes to well up once more.

'She's gone' he said finally. 'With him!'

For a moment, he stared at Haldir, an expression of purest venom on his face and finally, voice cracking, he threw himself on his beloved brother and let the tears flow.

More than mildly alarmed by this new odd behaviour, Haldir, wrapped his arms about his brother in an attempt to console him with whatever was bothering him, and ushered him gently inside his talan.

'Now,' he said, once he'd sat Orophin down with a rather sizable glass of miruvor, 'tell me everything.'

So, through much stammering and long hesitation, Orophin eventually related the entire sorrowful tale from after he'd left Haldir and found the note, right up to the very moment they were sitting in. Once he'd finished talking and turned his attentions to his drink for a time, Haldir sat quietly, watching him and biting his lip.

He knew it would be tactless and unfeeling to say 'I told you so' or 'I did warn you'. From the distraught and hopeless wretch who now sat before him drowning his sorrows in alcohol, Haldir felt that Orophin had been shown his foolishness and naïvety quite enough. Moving forward he embraced his brother warmly and held him as tight as he could, all the time whispering words of comfort in his ear and rocked him gently as one would cradle a distressed child.

The festival was to last the entirety of the afternoon and long into the night. There was a midday meal provided for those who wanted it and the evening was a plan of spectacular musical entertainment and a luscious feast followed by a night of dancing and merry making. In all eyes, it was exactly what Lorien needed to finally make a fresh start after the shocking past weeks.

'How many times, Haldir? I do not want to go!'

Haldir gazed sadly at his younger brother curled up in his bed and on the whole looking quite pitiful. 'I shall not pretend I understand what you're going through, brother, but I really do believe getting out will do wonders for you,' he pressed.

Orophin sighed into his pillow and looked up. 'If I agree, Haldir, and I'm only saying "if", I will go only to the feast in the evening.'

Haldir nodded, knowing it would be the best he would get out of Orophin. 'If that were your term, then very well.'

'I'll come then' replied Orophin, 'but as I say, my excuse from the afternoon celebrations is imperative. I just have to be by myself

Haldir gazed sympathetically at him and then bending down, he kissed his brother's brow lightly. 'I'm just down in the library if you need me, Orophin.'

Orophin nodded though his eyes were still full of grief. 'Thank you, Haldir'

Turning at the door, Haldir smiled gently. 'Get some rest, I'll be back later.'

Orophin listened and waited until he was sure Haldir was well out of earshot and wrenched the covers off himself. Hauling himself out of bed, he padded softly to the window and opened it. The light breeze slowly eased itself into the room and Orophin, though he was ordinarily refreshed by its gentleness and dewy scent, felt sickened at even its slight caress. Gazing out through the trees, he wondered where they were now. In his heart, he knew Saeden truly had meant no harm by what he had done … but it didn't stop Orophin feeling a great sense of resentment towards him. And her, Tarwë. For how long had she been planning and scheming?

Reaching for the crystal decanter, the elf poured himself a glass of brandy, the small level of liquid shimmering like molten amber fresh from the furnace. For a moment, Orophin stared into its depths, imagining her face there staring back at him. Shaking off the aggravating images, Orophin downed the glass in one swallow. Shuddering slightly as the strength of the liquor coursed through his veins like lightning, singeing the back of his throat a little, Orophin closed his eyes and felt a strange warmth and sense of release wash over him. For a sweet, blissful second, he was free. A gleeful exile from the prison of his own mind and the images it plagued him with.

Then he opened his eyes once more and saw his chambers again and memories continued their furious assault. Gritting his teeth, Orophin gripped the back of a chair hard as the memories of the previous night flooded back with terrific menace. The note. Saeden's face - his remarks. Her face – Oh, Tarwë's beautiful, lovely face and her voice sweeter than life itself … that now scorned him, betrayed him … hated him.

With a cry of utter fury, Orophin hurled the delicate glass with all his might into the empty grate. As it made contact with the icy metal, it shattered into a million pieces, tiny crystal shards skidding and throwing themselves in all directions across the floor.

Shivering all over from anger and complete sadness, Orophin fell to his knees by the window, burning rivers of anguish once again making their appearance. The sunlight from the open window streamed onto his back and the breeze ruffled his fine hair, as though trying in vain in their own ways to soothe and ease his suffering.

Throughout the afternoon in Lorien, mainly around the Crystal Hall and surrounding areas, elven minstrels played upon wooden flutes and harps – their beauteous melody ringing through the air and filling hearts with joy and gladness. The coming of Autumn was the herald of ripe and sweetened fruits and thus excellent wines and cordials. It was the bringer of thick golden harvests and the marvellous and best hunting season. The sun also shone more gently in Autumn and yet the weather remained ever glorious – all in all, a great cause for celebration.

Much to Haldir's comfort, Rúmil showed up at the afternoon's festivities and seemed heartily at ease – drinking and exchanging cheerful talk with those around him. Indeed, to Haldir it certainly appeared that whatever had been such a weight upon his young brother had now thankfully released him from its bond.

Looking up from his conversation with Glorfindel, Haldir smiled across at his brother and raised his glass. Seeing this, Rúmil grinned and raised his too. However, only Rúmil knew the true reason behind his decision to attend. Nice though it would have been to believe that he was here to make light of his day, he was instead busy keeping an eye out for anything untoward that might happen – especially around Galaril's direction. He hoped desperately that the murder of Lord Celeborn had been the only one Galaril had planned on but after the success of that … well, it unnerved him greatly to think about what the elf that he once called "friend" would now be all capable of.

As twilight approached, people began to make their way to the Hall, laughing and chattering gaily; their cares utterly forgotten. It appeared all the preparations had paid off handsomely. Four long maple tables draped with gold and crimson tablecloths stood proud, each able of seating forty with a few extra if required. At the north end was a stage, standing proud and decorated with gold gilding in the ornate and intricate likenesses of leaves, fruits, and forest creatures. On its right sat a separate table headed by two magnificent chairs – the table specially reserved for the Lord and Lady.

All around the hall the statues depicting scenes from well loved literature or folk tales had been polished and cleaned so their marble surfaces gleamed as never before. As one entered the hall they were greeted by the soft scents of vanilla and rose sourcing from the various floras that stood in slim pots around the walls. If one looked up, they would see the three dazzling chandeliers. Candles set in silver candelabras were positioned around the hall and their rich flames cast a dusky amber halo upon the walls behind.

'Well, this certainly wins me over more than any celebration I can remember in Imladris,' chuckled Glorfindel as they entered, 'and that's saying something!'

Erestor smiled. 'Indeed. Very elegant. However, I warn you, Glorfindel, I shouldn't repeat that opinion to Lord Elrond. He's rather … fond … of the small gatherings. Particularly the one celebrating the life and deeds of Felgrion the Wise.'

'The who?' Glorfindel stared.

'I said it was "small"!' grinned Erestor.

It was not only the guests from other cities who were awed by the grandeur of the Hall and the clear effort that had gone into preparing everything. The Lorien residents also stood in amazement and great appreciation – never in their memories, at least of the past millennia, had there ever been such a festival. The music had never been more gay nor the décor so extravagant and beauteous to behold.

Toying with his melon slice with the rounded side of his spoon, Haldir looked across at Rúmil.

'Where is he?' he hissed quickly.

Rúmil shrugged.

Rolling his eyes, Haldir felt both saddened and concerned. He supposed Orophin was now at this moment locked deep within his chambers and deliberately missing out on the feast. But he knew Orophin, and until now, he had never known him retreat upon a solemn promise. Then again, he thought as he mulled over the conversation in his mind, Orophin's current situation was nonetheless sorrowful. Had he been too hard on his younger brother?

Haldir shook his head. He knew in his heart that the latter was not true in the least. He pitied Orophin greatly and even wished, for his sake, that Tarwë might return. But he did not pretend to be surprised at Saeden's actions. Haldir did not doubt that the elf was more or less honourable and that his friendship with Orophin had always been genuine. However he also knew that Tarwë could quickly wheedle and coax her way into an ellon's naïve arms and before he knew what had happened, he would be the next tossed carelessly aside.

Minutes later, Haldir looked up to see his brother entering the hall, his face looking a little flushed. Gazing across the table, Rúmil sighed in relief as Orophin seated himself beside Haldir and his apology for being late was drowned amidst the whispers of anger and regret from his close friends-all regarding Tarwë and Saeden.

'You told me nobody knew yet' Orophin glared at Haldir.

'Only a few do, and that is simply because they were told mixed pieces of news by the stablehands who saw Tarwë and Saeden riding off and you making your way up to the healer's. They put the jumble of information together and came up with the correct conclusion' Haldir looked on sympathetically as Orophin nodded.

'All right. But I want this kept quiet – at least until the celebration is over' Orophin said, looking round at them all.

Murmurs of agreement and supportive nodding followed this and, very shortly after, Orophin helped himself to a melon slice. Meanwhile, the surrounding talk soon took a different and more trivial turn.

'Haldir?' began Glorfindel, sipping gently at his wine; half way through the main course, 'tell me, have you ever heard of someone called "Felgrion the Wise"?'

Haldir looked up, his fork of venison half way to his mouth and stared at Glorfindel, raising a questioning brow as Erestor sniggered heavily into his goblet.

'I cannot say that I have,' he answered. 'Why?'

Glorfindel shrugged. 'It was merely something Erestor mentioned earlier. Apparently Lord Elrond holds him in quite a high regard.'

'Does he now?' Haldir nodded thoughtfully. 'Well, chances are either he is an elf only known of in Imladris, or I am even less learned than I profess to be.'

'Now that would be difficult' grinned Orophin in jest, earning himself a "look" from his elder brother and almost identical smirks from the Balrog slayer and scribe.

Rúmil sat quietly, listening intently and eating slowly, but talking very little. Every so often he would glance up at the Lord and Lady's table and his jaw would tighten in suppressed rage as he watched Galaril sitting there, laughing and chattering with his fellows. Still, nothing untoward had happened and they were over half way through the evening now. Soon, the dancing would begin and … Rúmil's stomach flipped when he realised just how difficult it would be then to keep watch on Galaril's actions.

The desserts that followed the preceding courses were sumptuous and mouth-watering. Meringues with a texture so delicate that they melted away deliciously as soon as they touched your lips, leaving behind a pleasant and light taste of violets. Fruit pies of many kinds, each filled to bursting with luscious summer fruits and encased in golden-brown pastry. Many more sweets stood in silver dishes along the tables and the elves, though not in the least gluttons by nature, still managed second and some; third helpings of the sweets.

Finally, the meal was finished and the last of the plates were cleared away, though leaving the goblets behind for those who still wished to drink. All eyes then turned toward the Lord and Lady's table for it was the custom in such celebrations as these for the feast to be toasted and the end and just before the dancing and merriment began.

Rúmil watched as an elf emerged carrying two magnificent goblets filled with crimson liquid. He watched carefully, eyes flitting constantly between Lord and Lady and the elf like a squirrel observing its surroundings completely.

'Rúmil, what are you doing?' an elf whispered on his right.

Looking up, Rúmil realised he had been leaning a little too far back upon his chair and, had the elf not said anything, he likely would have ended up sprawled upon the floor.

Glancing across at Rúmil, Erestor grew curious. What indeed was Rúmil doing tipping back like that? He shrugged and turned back to the Lord and Lady's table and as he did so, his sharp eyes caught something that made his brow furrow in puzzlement.

As Galaril took the goblets from the elf and bid him retreat, his back turned to his audience, the advisor noticed him raise his hand over one of the goblets and, unless his vision deceived him, he was sure the elven lord sprinkled something into it.

'Glor' he whispered to his companion, and the golden haired elf turned to him in question, 'Glor, did you know it was customary to add some spice of a kind to the goblets?'

Glorfindel shrugged. 'Must be a fairly recent development.'

At this, Rúmil's head snapped around and he stared urgently at the raven haired elf. 'What did you say?'

Erestor looked surprised at the younger elf's remark and its sudden distressed tone. 'Tis only an observation, but I never knew it was the custom in Lorien to add something to the goblets during the toast.'

Rúmil blanched. 'It … it isn't!'

Erestor's eyes widened and before he realised what he had done, he had called out, beseeching Galadriel not to drink from the goblet.

All eyes in the hall turned to face him and Glorfindel stared at his friend in utter alarm. 'Have you gone utterly insane?' he hissed through gritted teeth.

'Erestor of Imladris,' began Galadriel with a comforting smile, 'pray, why do you ask this?'

Erestor swallowed, suddenly feeling quite foolish, but there was nothing for it but to carry on. 'My lady, I fear that the goblet you hold in your hands … has been tampered with.'

There was silence for a few seconds and then someone chuckled. This was quickly followed by a few more bursts of laughter and quite soon the entire hall exploded into shouts of mirth.

Erestor flushed, feeling like a fool.

'Erestor, why would anyone do such a thing?' smiled Galaril gently, looking directly at the scribe, the laughter subsiding as he did so.

Erestor stared resolutely back, still not doubting what he saw. 'I confess, I do not know, my lord. However I feel certain that there is something amiss with the goblet that the Lady now holds.'

Galaril shook his fair head and spoke pleasantly. 'These goblets have been kept under lock and key and the elf that brought them to me now has been within my sight the entire evening. I fear, Erestor, you are mistaken.'

Erestor, still holding fast to his convictions, rose and stood, fully prepared now to walk straight up to the table. Formality and propriety were one thing, but perilous danger was quite another.

He turned however when he felt a hand clamp tight upon his wrist and saw Rúmil staring up at him.

'No. I'll go' he said quickly.

Erestor shook his head. 'You have much more to lose than I' he said flatly and gently shaking off Rúmil's hand, he strode up to the table, ignorant of the whispers that broke out surrounding his bold actions.

Glorfindel stared after him, his mouth hanging agape. 'What in the name of Eru does he think he's doing?'

'Erestor' said Galadriel gently, 'return to your seat. 'I assure you, my lord is correct. There is no possible way this goblet could have been tampered with.'

Erestor bowed his head and looked up at her once more. 'Forgive me, my lady. I ask you; beg of you not to drink from that goblet.'

Galadriel looked from the steadfast advisor to her husband and slowly she nodded and lowered the goblet.

Galaril glared at Erestor and for a moment, the advisor felt a shiver of extreme unease ripple through his veins.

'The elf speaks nonsense' Galaril scoffed. 'Go, return to your seat – I believe we have entertained your jests long enough.'

'He does not!'

Rúmil was on his feet now and Erestor span round to meet the young warden's eyes which were filled with a terrible dread and determination he had never seen in him before.

'Rúmil!' Haldir stared up at his brother in shock. 'Sit down now and stop this absurdity.'

Rúmil was deaf to his brother's incensed pleas and instead fixed his eyes upon the front table. 'Believe him, my lord, I beg of you.'

Galaril stared at Rúmil in disbelief. 'Rúmil, my friend I regret your actions are rash and quite inexplicable, never minding the fact that you speak with great candour and forget your place!'

He almost spat the last words and glowered at the elf who he thought he could call "friend".

Turning back to Erestor, he nodded shortly. 'I suggest you resume your place for I believe I have been more than benign towards you, considering your actions.'

Biting his tongue, Erestor nodded and spoke a short apology, then turning and making his way back to his seat, his eyes never leaving Rúmil's. As he walked, he noted the young warden shaking his head pointedly; the expression in his eyes that had once been of fear was now heightened into pure terror.

'And now, if we may return to the toast' Galaril began once again, his voice sounding decidedly more cheerful.

The elven lord's words rang in Erestor's mind and he did not hear the furious statements that were hissed at him by Glorfindel as he reached his place.

'… and now, Autumn is upon us – may she gift us with marvellous yields …'

Erestor stared at Rúmil and then the colour drained from his cheeks as he saw the young elf about to make his own way to the front table.

'… and now we drink to her health and the wondrous bounty she provides …'

'NO!'

Whipping around upon his heel, Erestor tore to the front of the hall causing Rúmil to stop in his tracks in shock. His black robes swirled about him and his expression was drained and panicked. Snatching the goblet from Galadriel's hands he turned back to face the hall.

'You don't believe me? There's only one way then!'

Glorfindel shot to his feet as in sudden dismay, he realised too late what his dear friend was about to do.

Setting the rim of the goblet between his lips, and before anyone could stop him; Erestor drained the contents and set the goblet down upon the table. Time seemed to freeze as all faces watched, each holding their breath, suddenly hoping and praying that the advisor really had been mistaken.

Raising his head, Erestor nodded and turned back to the Lord and Lady and bowed. 'Forgive me. I meant no harm by my actions.'

Galaril sighed and nodded. 'Though you have utterly destroyed the toast, I pass forgiveness. You had the welfare of my lady at your heart it seems.'

'Thank you, my lord' smiled Erestor, still feeling foolish, but nonetheless grateful. Looking to Galadriel, he felt suddenly small and meek under the scrutiny of her kind, sapphire gaze and even more so when she too nodded her assent for him to retreat.

Standing up, Glorfindel walked to join his friend, shaking his head in disbelief and slight – very slight amusement. 'You and your paranoia, Erestor' he sighed, taking the scribe's arm and leading him back to the table.

Rúmil sank back to his chair, his forehead glistening with icy perspiration. Thank Eru Erestor had been wrong. He caught Haldir's offended eye and looked away quickly. He would face the wrath of his elder brother later - that much he knew for sure.

Erestor nodded, smiling slightly at Glorfindel's comment. 'Aye, forgive me, Fin, I was mistak - '

Quite suddenly, the raven haired elf froze, his eyes widening and his entire torso stiffened. Glorfindel looked around and stared. 'Erestor …?'

Erestor's hand flew to his chest and he fell to the floor, his breathing short and ragged. Each breath he drew seemed to cause him immense pain and tiny beads of perspiration began trickling down his forehead.

Terrified, Glorfindel fell to his knees beside the scribe and took him in his arms. 'Erestor. What is it? What is wrong?' He glanced up briefly and spied the offending goblet, sitting upon the table and it seemed to gleam with an evil pride.

'Oh Eru!'

Erestor shook violently in Glorfindel's arms, coughing all the while, his skin quickly becoming clammy to the touch.

Agitated talk broke out around and several ran to aid the elf but Glorfindel waved them off and shouted in blind fury. Rúmil skidded to their side and bent down.

'Rúmil' Erestor managed to choke out hoarsely, taking the young elf's hand. 'Rúmil … there's something … you know … you have to help her … '

Rúmil nodded quickly and squeezed Erestor's hand gently, feeling the tears pricking and flowing from his eyes as he watched the advisor struggle, his strength slowly appearing to ebb.

'Erestor,' whimpered Glorfindel, cradling the raven haired scribe in his arms. 'Don't you leave me here. You fight, you hear me? Hear me! Ai! Erestor, please!'

The coughs that had been torturing Erestor's throat for the past minutes now subsided briefly, allowing him to looks directly up at Glorfindel, fear flickering in his liquid jet eyes. 'I cannot, Fin. I … what was in that …? Something … I know not … Fin …'

The Lord and Lady hurried over and Galadriel stared down at the suddenly hopeless elf, her face taught and suddenly petrified. She seemed to shrink before their eyes from their Lady, their Queen, into a lowly elleth. Her status seemed to diminish as she looked on, knowing that even she could not help him; she realised suddenly that whatever was in the goblet had been meant for her. But who would despise her that much to want to? The thought was too terrible to comprehend.

Tears streamed plentifully down Glorfindel's face, soaking his robes and pooling onto the cold floor below. Leaning forward he kissed Erestor's brow and cheeks, all the while feeling his friend weaken under the strain of determination to survive. 'You have to stand, Erestor. We'll get you to the healers … it'll all be all right.' Glorfindel attempted an encouraging smile, but it failed somewhere along the way as Erestor shook his ebony head.

'Fin … I cannot move … I …I am weak … you have to let me go …'

Glorfindel shook his head. 'I won't! Eru, Erestor! You must fight! I cannot lose you – I love you, my dear, beloved friend!'

'Aye' whispered Erestor, his eyes flickering in and out of consciousness. 'I love you too, that is why I ask you now – let me go and whatever happens, do not follow me.'

Glorfindel suddenly fell speechless and hugged his dear friend as close to him as he could.

'Cuio vae', Glorfindel' Erestor said suddenly, his voice now a mere whisper of its former glory.

Sighing gently, the advisor's eyes fluttered closed and Death caught him gently in a loving embrace.

Crying out in complete anguish, Glorfindel rocked back and forth upon his knees, clutching Erestor's lifeless form to him. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he wept loud and openly, the pain in his heart raw and excruciating.

All those around the grief stricken elf stood stunned, tears falling silently down their faces as they gazed on in disbelief. Nearby, the Peredhil twins held each other, both sobbing at the sudden loss of their long time tutor and friend. Rúmil sat quite still, lost in his own mind. He should have stopped Erestor. He could have done something … anything. Then, as though on a fleeting wind, the words of Erestor flooded back to him. He had realised that he, Rúmil, knew something and looking up, Rúmil glared absolutely at Galaril.

The elven lord's face was apparently deeply saddened and his head was bowed in sorrow. However, there was something reflected in his grey eyes that Rúmil recoiled from. This was no accident. Looking sadly back as Glorfindel still held his friend tight to his chest, Rúmil's eyes narrowed.

You were right, was all he could think. You were right, Erestor – it shall be her next and he must be stopped.

Finally, Glorfindel, exhausted from his grief, released Erestor slightly and gazed despairingly into his silent, noble face. 'No veren ned i themais gurth'',' he whispered gently. 'You shall be avenged.'

The funeral of Erestor took place the very next day, though Glorfindel himself requested that his ashes be placed in an elegant urn. When they got back to Imladris, they would be scattered amongst the rose garden – the place he knew Erestor held most dear to his heart.

Now, as evening swept over Lorien, it also brought with it a reminder of the fell taste of evil. Everywhere one went, there were no smiling faces. The joyous and happy frivolity of days past; were just that – past. Every ellon and elleth sat and walked around their business with sombre faces, each lost in their own thoughts and deeply fearful. The death of Erestor of Imladris had taken all by surprise and had shaken them hard and long. Now they knew that there was one of their number who had wanted either the Lord or Lady dead, there was a severe feeling of distrust – even amongst the closest of friends. No one appeared to walk anywhere alone and tension was running higher than ever.

Rúmil lay his bed, tossing and turning and absolutely unable to sleep. He stared at the ceiling and finally, with a grumble, wrenched the covers of himself and stood. He dressed quickly in a spare tunic and leggings and, not bothering to lace up his boots adequately, walked out into the dead of night in search of Glorfindel. He had had chances since the festival to speak with Glorfindel alone, but he had put off doing so until now, for the elven lord's grief had been great indeed.

But now, the young warden knew that the time was right to tell Glorfindel his suspicions. He called for him first in his chambers and when that proved fruitless, he moved through Glorfindel's haunts of the previous few days – the gardens, the west courtyard. Finally, having had no luck unearthing the Balrog slayer, Rúmil sank down upon a stone and sighed deeply, the dark and coolness of the night seeming to comfort him.

Then, as he gazed aimlessly around his surroundings, his eyes fell upon the kitchen door and standing up, Rúmil sighed once more. It was worth a try at least.

Opening the door, he descended quickly down the stone steps into the kitchen below and was greeted by the dim amber light of a single lit candle. As his eyes adjusted quickly to the light, they fell upon the large preparation table and Rúmil smiled briefly. Glorfindel sat at the table, slowly consuming a large bottle of miruvor and apparently oblivious to Rúmil's entry.

'Glorfindel?' Rúmil said gently, approaching the elven lord with caution. 'Glorfindel, I must speak with you.'

Glorfindel raised his head and he gazed blearily at Rúmil. 'What about?' he replied, his speech a little slurred.

Rúmil sat down opposite him and tried to look as comforting as possible, knowing that what he was about to say would most likely reopen the wounds Glorfindel was trying so hard to heal.

Glorfindel regarded the young elf with an intent expression, the level of alcohol he had consumed making him feel slightly light headed, but still unfortunately sober enough for a coherent conversation.

'Glorfindel … I know who tried to kill Galadriel – and therefore, who killed Erestor.'

Glorfindel stared at him and his lips grew thin. 'Who?' he said simply, his voice betraying his scepticism.

'Galaril' replied Rúmil, staring determinedly into the elf lord's eyes.

For a moment, silence reigned and then Glorfindel hung his head. 'How can you expect me to believe that? He's the Lord of Lorien and he loves Galadriel. No … you must be mistaken.'

Rúmil shook his head violently. 'Nay, I know I am not! Do you not want to avenge Erestor? Well this is your chance to do it!'

Glofindel banged his fist down upon the table causing the surface to shudder and Rúmil to wince. 'Of course I do!' he yelled. 'But you have no proof of this. None whatsoever and so you cannot help me!'

'But Erestor knew it was Galaril. He realised that something was wr - '

'He's dead! Rúmil, do you still not understand? Even if Galaril did want his wife" dead and Erestor somehow knew this, you still have no proof because he won't be able to testify that for himself! Ever!'

Hanging his head, Glorfindel exhaled slowly, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain the tears that were once more pricking insistently at his eyes.

'I do have proof,' Rúmil said finally, knowing that there was now no other way to convince Glorfindel.

Glorfindel looked up. 'Oh yes? What is it?'

Rúmil paused, suddenly remembering his oath. Then, shaking his conscience from his shoulders, he spoke quickly. 'Celeborn told me'.

A ringing silence fell about the pair and Glorfindel moaned in sorrow. 'So, it gets better still. Not content with taunting me regarding Erestor's unfortunate demise, you wish to remind me of your own suffering? Is that it? You want a companion in your grief – or have you really gone quite mad? Well, whichever it is, Rúmil you are most definitely going the wrong way about getting any sympathy from me!'

Rúmil's cheeks flared and his eyes gleamed in sudden anger. He had just revealed the most important piece of information he had ever concealed and now Glorfindel was treating it as insanity or mockery. Glorfindel of Imladris, the Balrog slayer and one of the most feared and respected elven lords from here to Aman was refusing to believe the one fact that might bring him peace.

At this thought, Rúmil grew quite incensed. 'Do you not understand, Glorfindel? I KNOW who murdered Lord Celeborn and who now sits upon high. Celeborn himself came to me and told me so!'

'Close your mouth, Rúmil of Lorien, or I warn you, you may go too far!'

'Does it look like I care now?' Rúmil retaliated, his fury overpowering him. 'Believe me, Glorfindel! Galaril murdered Celeborn and he tried to murder Lady Galadriel the other night, only Erestor caught the blow instead. Glorfindel, will you listen to me? Galaril and I have been friends for as long as I can remember – why would I wish him brought to such justice and for such crimes if I wasn't wholly sure in my convictions?'

Glorfindel stared at the table and rubbed his temples. Then, he looked up at Rúmil. 'All right' he said finally, nodding. 'I believe you. But what can be done? No one else will, that is for sure.'

Rúmil smiled grimly. 'No they won't – not if we just tell them. However … I have a rather interesting idea … '

Glorfindel leaned forward across the table. 'You have my attention, Rúmil of Lorien,' he said. 'Please, continue.'

' Live well

'' Be joyous in the halls of death